Almost Oblivion
by Junsui Kegasu
Summary: Maybe if he sacrificed his life, she would go free. Everything was based on karma like that, he had decided. This was all punishment for letting her go, for making that mistake so many years ago… There would be no more nightmares if he died.


He was flat on his back in the dirt, and somehow the feeling was all too familiar despite the fact that he knew he had never lost this badly – in fact, it was not often that he lost at all. He must have lost too much blood, because it was so hard to tell between it and his hair now. They seemed to match in color and both were sprayed about him like some sick kind of halo, a trophy of his utter defeat. If he closed his eyes, it disappeared so he kept them closed.

It was not just a physical defeat; it went much deeper than that. Abarai Renji had physically lost before, just never this badly and never to the point where he contemplated the benefits of death. He would no longer feel this guilt, have these nightmares where he hadn't sacrificed his selfishness and lost his entire world. It would no longer be some kind of fucked up puppet show whenever he spoke to his captain, the formalities and façades stretched so tightly that one day, their skins would just rip from their faces and Renji would lose it and kill him. He would kill him, he would, and that would solve his problems. But if he died, his problems would be solved, too.

He wouldn't have to watch this anymore, be torn between what was to happen and what should happen anymore. He wouldn't have to see her face, all but apathetic at his own presence, but as soon as he mentions that ryoka boy… He wouldn't have to be this jealous of a mere mortal, a kid who didn't even know. He didn't know how hard Renji tried to save her, but he couldn't. He didn't know how much it hurt to tell him to save Rukia because he couldn't. It was his entire fault, but he was going to fix it, and he would be long dead and no longer having to deal with the shame once it was all over.

His world was fading in and out of consciousness, the face of the only person he had ever cherished floating in and out of his vision. He just wished he would pass out soon to be comforted by that image for the rest of his life, and then Oblivion after that. With any luck, he wouldn't be reborn. Oh, he was far from perfect and the laws dictated that he should be reborn, but maybe they would take pity on him. He felt like he had lived a thousand lifetimes, and in a way he was finishing his second one. Where did people who died in Soul Society go? Probably Hell; Hell would fit him perfectly. Fiery and consuming and oh, so warm… it was cold. He was so cold, the only warmth his lifeblood draining from his body in mere trickles compared to what it had been. If he concentrated, he could feel his strength ebb with it and it was almost soothing to count down the moments until his death.

Would his captain care that he was gone? No, he thought and would have scowled but it was too much work to move his face, to even open his eyes. Kuchiki Byakuya didn't care about anything or anyone except for his duty, and he was to blame, too. Everyone was to blame for what went on – he for letting her go, the ryoka boy for taking her powers, and Kuchiki Byakuya for not using his rank to redeem her. Would no one save her? Maybe if he sacrificed his life, she would go free. Everything was based on karma like that, he had decided. This was all punishment for letting her go, for making that mistake so many years ago… There would be no more nightmares if he died. The thought spread like something akin to warmth through him.

Now his thoughts were coming in more of a trickle than a stream and the image of Rukia no longer danced behind his eyelids but was there, solid, and if he could raise his arms to touch her he would have sworn she was there. She was comforting him as he died, but didn't she know that he didn't deserve it? Didn't she know that it was all her fault they weren't still living together, that things had changed so drastically? The blood that was everywhere stained a tattoo enough to make permanent marks for that sick achievement. It would shine brighter than any of the others, too, in his vision - if he ever had vision again. He really hoped that he wouldn't.

It was too much effort to think clearly anymore, so he didn't, only lay in his own blood and on the cold tiles of Seireitei with his hair flung about him. He listened, almost contentedly, to the silent lullaby that was his life fading and embraced the clammy arms of death that he knew was coming. He longed to feel it, to feel his soul ripped away and taken to Hell, where he belonged. He was never meant to be here, to be any more than the very worst of everything. Fate was punishing him for this audacity to come to this pure place – he should've been content with being in the seventy-eighth district as opposed to the eightieth. But that was okay. It was being corrected now. It was…

"Abarai-kun!"

A voice sounded… the voice of Hell? No, Hell should not have sounded familiar, but he couldn't open his eyes to figure out just who it was. He knew, he knew the voice, but his mind was so fogged, like it was filling with the blood around him and he just couldn't place it right now. Vaguely, like he was underwater, he heard orders being shouted and he managed to place the voice before he faded off completely, partially through his last thought.

_I'm not afraid of death_

_ -_

**AN:** The last sentence is supposed to lack a period. It's the middle of Renji's thought that would, undoubtably, if finished launch into another rambling rant, but he passed out. So yes, that is very intentional.


End file.
